The Ballad of Jilted John
by moon71
Summary: After confronting his troubled past in New York, Eiri faces a worse crisis still – writer’s block. Can a flame reviewer provide the solution? Complete!
1. The Wisdom of Shuichi

**THE BALLAD OF JILTED JOHN by Moon71**

**Summary: **After confronting his troubled past in New York, Eiri faces a worse crisis still – writer's block. Can a flame reviewer provide the solution?

**Timeline: **After the end of the anime, directly after Bad Luck's National Tour.

**Rating: **Dunno. T, maybe? Not much sex, a bit of sugar, a bit of bad language… but I restrained myself and didn't describe Shu-chan's stage costume. I figured anyone into Yaoi or slash had to have a fertile enough imagination to fill in the gaps…

**Disclaimer: **Gravitation isn't mine. Jilted John isn't either, he's the property of Graham Fellows, bless him. Love To Review Japan is technically mine, but how much do you want to bet there's a site out there with that name?

**Author's Notes: **

**JILTED JOHN: **This is not, I repeat _not_ a songfic. Anyone mental enough to write a story to a song called _Gordon is a Moron _needs psychiatric help worse than Eiri. For those not old enough or daft enough to remember this classic song, _Gordon is a Moron_ was a song back in the '70s sung by Jilted John, a.k.a comedian, musician and actor Graham Fellows. It could either be called the funniest, or the stupidest, song of the decade. It basically charts the misery of teenager John, whose girlfriend dumps him for Gordon. Why this story suddenly grew out of my efforts one afternoon to remember the words to that song I have no idea, but here it is!!! (If anyone cares, I'll track down the lyrics again and post them at the end – they're true poetry, and they really seem to sum up 70's-80's teenage life in London… that or else I'm getting old…

**THE STORY: **Whatever the truth, I am so glad to post this. It's one of my personal favourites because it was in my head for ages. I couldn't get it right until I decided to set it after the anime ends – because Gravitation really does have a beginning, middle and end for me, and because its so character driven, I can't help being conscious of where Shuichi and Eiri are at in their relationship when I write a story.

**ANIME AND MANGA: **As I'm sure I've said before, I tend to follow the anime timeline. However, where the two formats meet I always refer to the manga too, and for **Mizuki**, who features heavily in this story, it goes without saying all the info came from the manga. I've always been fond of her, with her patient but rather cheeky attitude to Eiri and her kindness to Shuichi, and as with some of the other female characters, I was sorry she dropped out of sight in the later books.

**LAST OF ALL: **To all who reviewed the last part of "Orange Dress" – I will try to reply to you individually rather than clutter this up with my babble!

**OH, AND BY THE WAY… **I've now posted all my Grav stories on my LJ too, and will try to do so at the same time as on GB and FF from now on, so if anyone prefers to chat to me there feel free – it's open to everyone at the moment.

* * *

Eiri slammed the cup back into its saucer and glared across the table at his editor. _"What?"_

Mizuki just continued to stare at him for a long moment with that odd frown on her face. "Yuki-san, are you quite sure you're completely better?"

Eiri stiffened slightly. "Besides that overnight stay in hospital when my ulcer started playing up, I don't actually recall saying I'd been ill."

"No, but while you suddenly …" she cleared her throat delicately, "went away, Shindou-san said…"

"You should know better than to listen to anything Shuichi says," Eiri cut in irritably. "Besides, you of all people know this wouldn't be the first time I've skipped town before a deadline…"

"It's the first time you've done so since you met Shindou-san… actually I did wonder…"

Eiri folded his arms across his chest – a gesture Mizuki should recognise by now as signifying that line of conversation was over. "If you've got a problem with the manuscript just say so," he snapped.

It was interesting to note just how well he and Mizuki had gotten to know one another. She was one of very, very few female acquaintances he had not slept with at some time – unlike previous female editors, who had usually not lasted long, she was not easy to distract or misdirect. At first he had been deceived by her sweet fluffiness; not long after she had become his editor he had wanted an extension on a deadline, and when she had refused he put his hand on her knee, letting it stray up her thigh. But all she had done was give him a playfully admonishing look which made him feel less the Casanova of Tokyo than a naughty little boy, and brought his deadline forward by one week. After that he settled for showing his true surly, disrespectful self, but that didn't faze her either. And so the war of nerves went on, with Mizuki's pretty smiles and Eiri's sour words, becoming the closest thing to friendship Eiri had experienced in his adult life – until the arrival of Shuichi.

It was at this point that Mizuki would normally give him one of those pretty little girl's smiles and begin the complicated task of soothing his ego while steering him towards her point of view – bending the integrity of art to fit the needs of commercial reality. But instead she simply looked down at the manuscript before her on the table, then up at Eiri once more. "Are you… quite sure about this scene at the end between Mayu and Maiko?"

Eiri narrowed his eyes defensively. "You evidently aren't…"

Mizuki frowned and turned to the page in question, which was now decorated with copious notes in red pencil. "So you think after everything Maiko has been through, and after Mayu has stood by her throughout, it's quite in keeping with the tone of your story for Mayu to suddenly lose her temper and shout at Maiko to… ah… _"get a life"_?"

Eiri opened his mouth to speak, then found he did not quite have an answer. At least not one he could explain to Mizuki, a woman who knew little or nothing of the recent upheavals in his life besides that he had suddenly disappeared and then reappeared a month or so later, using the excuse of following Shuichi on Bad Luck's Japanese tour to avoid a meeting to discuss his latest unfinished manuscript. _The travelling will inspire me, _he had written in a brief email to her, blaming a long period of silence after that on the lack of an internet connection.

Eiri sank back sullenly into his chair and picked up his coffee cup once more, only half listening as she began to hold forth on her general impressions of the story and how it might be improved. If only she knew, he reflected wearily, just how lucky she was the damned thing still existed at all…

* * *

"Hey, Yuki, my new stage costume's just arrived! Would you like me to model it for you?" 

"Fuck off and die, you pointless little brat."

There was a time when a response like that from his lover would provoke a huge storm of tears and angry recriminations from Shindou Shuichi. Now all he did was cluck sympathetically and move around the desk to begin rubbing Eiri's aching shoulders. "Poor Yuki… still got writer's block…?"

Eiri nodded helplessly and closed his eyes, unable to stop himself melting into Shuichi's strong, soothing hands. "It's as if… as if…"

He hesitated, wondering at the sudden impulse to confide in the young vocalist. He had never discussed his writing with Shuichi; had never, if he was honest, thought him capable of understanding. After all, his lyrics, while never remotely as bad as Eiri had once made out, were not exactly Homeric hymns.

But maybe that reticence was a mistake. Shuichi might never be a great lyricist, but it didn't matter, because all he wanted to say was said in the language of music – a tonal, mathematical language which had nothing to do with the written word. It had been easy at first to dismiss Shuichi as one of a thousand talent-free wannabe pop stars; even when he had heard his voice he could dismiss it as instinct. But not when he listened to his music – not when he watched him composing. Eiri had made the usual mistake of a man who lived with and thought in words – he had mistaken a lack of verbal eloquence for a lack of ability. Yet he had seen musicians interviewed – had even talked to a few of Tohma's cohorts over the years. They might not be as articulate as writers were when discussing their art, but that did not mean their efforts were any less premeditated, even calculated. Shuichi… was an artist. That deserved some consideration.

Eiri glanced once more over the page displayed on his computer screen before heaving a deep sigh and removing his spectacles. "It's as if this was written by someone else," he said finally. "These characters are strangers to me. I can't remember why I made them the way they are. It's as if they're talking to each other, but not to me…"

Shuichi was very quiet for a moment. He even withdrew his hands. "I understand that, Eiri," he said very softly. He still used Eiri's given name only very rarely, and then only when they were alone, though Eiri had never actually said he couldn't use it. Eiri supposed that to Shuichi he had been and always would be "Yuki" – the name had taken on its own identity since Shuichi had entered his life, almost losing its original tragic symbolism. But more than that, he suspected that Shuichi, in his own quirky way, reserved "Eiri" as a special treat; an affirmation of his right to use it. "When you… when you went to New York… I could still sing, but it was as if the song wasn't mine anymore. Sakuma-san understood it before I did. I kept telling myself everything was all right, and everyone accepted that, except him. When I realised the truth, I think _that_ was when I lost my voice…"

In spite of himself, Eiri felt a lump gathering in his throat. "But you got your voice back…" he murmured.

"Oh, sure," Shuichi said brightly, coming around to face Eiri. As the writer pushed away from his desk, Shuichi slid comfortably into his lap. "You gave me my voice back. Do you know, the first thing I said was "Yuki"?"

"You told me," Eiri replied in a gruffer tone. _About a hundred times, _he added silently. "But you said the songs didn't seem yours anymore. How do you feel now?"

"Oh, they're all mine, now!" Shuichi laughed happily. "The funny thing is, Sakuma-san was the one who made them mine again! I didn't understand at the time – he snubbed me, you see, and that was when I lost my voice. I thought he hated me – I really thought things couldn't get any worse, and I didn't understand how he could be so unkind when he knew you'd… well, but anyway, afterwards, he showed me how to find the music all over again, and I realised that he hadn't done that to be unkind, he'd done it because he was trying to tell me the truth, when no-one else was." Shuichi looked down into Eiri's eyes and sighed. "I guess that doesn't make any sense…"

Eiri stared at him for a long moment, unable to answer. "Well, as a matter of fact…"

"Wait a minute," Shuichi cried, leaping up with an ominously bright expression, "I was telling Hiro about how it – I mean, I didn't actually tell him you had writer's block, but I said I wanted to be able to help you, and he said maybe if you talked to me about the story, it might help you to get the ideas right. See, sometimes when I can't find the words for my songs, I just play the tune to Hiro and he helps me to try and find the words that really fit… he always reads so much, its like he knows a hundred different words for anything… how about if I read what you've written so far – " Shuichi reached out to pick up the printout lying beside Eiri's laptop.

"_No!" _Feeling a sudden jolt of panic, Eiri rapidly grabbed Shuichi's hand before it could close upon the manuscript. "I mean, come on, you damned brat – I wouldn't want you overtaxing your brain… trying to read a book without pictures…"

"_Yuki!" _Shuichi cried indignantly.

"Anyway," Eiri said, slipping his arms around the protesting boy, "I'd much sooner see that stage costume of yours… I want to make sure none of these rampant Kyushu fangirls are going to be seeing parts of you only _I'm _allowed to see…"

Shuichi giggled as he ducked out of Eiri's embrace, bouncing off to get changed. As soon as he was out of the room, Eiri picked up the manuscript, shoved it into his attaché case and locked it. There was absolutely no way Shuichi was going to read that – at least, not before it was fixed.

Or shredded…

And to think it had been such an easy story to write! From start to finish the words had flowed out of him like water breaking through a damn, violent and unstoppable. No writer's block, no sudden errors ruining the progress of the plot, no difficult scenes to stumble over. It had kept him awake those days and nights after he and Shuichi had been publicly "outed" and Shuichi had temporarily moved out of Eiri's flat to avoid the press; it had fed off him, drained him dry, like an embryonic child sapping the life out of its parent as it struggled to grow. It was this novel, as much as the press harassment and poor Shuichi himself, who had shouldered so much of the blame, which had ultimately put him in hospital, both the cause of the visible symptoms and a symptom of the greater sickness. Like Mozart or Gershwin or Van Gogh or a hundred other artists who had either worked themselves to death or been driven mad by their art, Eiri had begun to wonder if his muse would finally eat him alive before it was finally completed.

But that was the greatest irony of all, the secret truth not even Shuichi – or Mizuki, who was still persistently emailing him for progress reports – realised. The damned story _was_ finished, at least in a draft form. Normally he would either hand the manuscript straight over to his editor in its raw form, or, if he was actually ahead of himself, sit back and do the first edit himself. This manuscript had been abandoned new born but undeniably whole when Tohma had rushed Eiri to hospital. And that was the last time he had even looked at it until the reckoning in New York.

When he had first returned, he had simply felt too fragile, too shell-shocked to look at it. He had lied to Mizuki, insisting it was only half finished. But the long hours of travelling, or of hanging about in hotel rooms while Shuichi rehearsed, not even needing to trouble himself with housework or the pestering of his family (beyond the occasional visit by Tohma, ostensibly to boost Bad Luck's morale on their tour), inevitably created the right atmosphere for reading and editing, and Eiri had finally printed off the novel chapter by chapter and begun to read.

And what he read horrified him.

On the surface it was, if he did say so himself, vintage Yuki Eiri. The setting was not, for once, Japan's imperial past, but rather amidst the rebirth of the country as a technological giant. The heroine was a young woman called Maiko (named, in a perverse moment, in honour of Shuichi's little sister, who despite her brother's best attempts to keep her at bay, had appeared several times at Eiri's flat to declare herself his greatest fan.) At the tender age of seventeen, Maiko, wealthy but sheltered, was seduced by a handsome but cold-hearted fortune hunter who threw her over without a second thought when her matriarchal mother refused to bargain a settlement and instead cut her off without a single yen. Too proud to throw herself on her parents' mercy and too ashamed to go home without their forgiveness, Maiko threw herself into the expanding world of the electronics industry, moving from Japan to the USA as she ruthlessly climbed the corporate ladder.

Various sub-plots of industrial espionage and backstabbing and the shadow of the Yakuza gave the novel its necessary excitement, violence and character deaths. But at the core of it was not Maiko's success, or the trials and tribulations of the life of high powered female executive in an alien and often chauvinistic world. Rather, it was the one thing that not only formed her character but made it impossible for her to be happy – the memory of the lover who had betrayed her. Throughout the novel, and against the sensible advice of her stalwart friend Mayu, Maiko almost deliberately picked out the worst possible men to share her life with - adulterers, gamblers, alcoholics and criminals, all of them unwilling or unable to commit to any sort of lasting relationship.

Such was Maiko's background, laid down in the first few chapters. But the story really began when she met the son of one of her business rivals at a corporate function. Omi was young, handsome and sensitive, uninterested by the executive life, preferring to pursue a career in the visual arts. In spite of Maiko's cold reluctance, Omi fell instantly in love with her and persisted in his courtship even when Maiko rebuffed him time after time. Finally, however, after seeing how resolutely Omi defended both his choice of career and Maiko herself, who his own father dismissed as a corporate slut who had slept her way to the top and accused of using Omi to get a foothold in his company, Maiko began to realise just what a strong and ultimately remarkable person Omi was. After a few chapters of romance and self discovery on Maiko's part, Omi asked Maiko to marry him.

And that was where Eiri now found himself running straight into a brick wall. The ending seemed to be simple enough – he could see it, even as he wrote it, being described as "vintage Yuki Eiri" by the critics. The notes were comprehensive, the scenes roughly written; it only remained to connect the final scenes together. Maiko would of course _not _marry Omi; after much angsting over the past and the future, when the day of the wedding came round, Maiko would board a flight back to Japan to commit herself to the unhappy sterility of a marriage arranged by her mother to a pompous, conservative aristocrat as a condition for being accepted back into the family.

The reasons behind her decision would of course be clear enough. She could not let go of the past. Her first love had to remain her only love. To give him up was to let go of so much pain and unhappiness that had become a part of her life, part of her very consciousness. The idea of replacing that pain and that loneliness with warmth and happiness and… love… was just too vast a change to endure. To allow herself to love Omi, to admit that Omi was a better man than the man who had thrown her over was to admit that he had never been worthy, that he had used her and made a fool of her. It was to admit to her own bad judgement, her self delusion and ultimate humiliation.

Further, if she was going to allow herself to love Omi, she would have to open her heart to another person for the first time in years. They might make mutual friends, start to go out with other couples. Others who had always thought her unreachable would suddenly see her as accessible – as human like themselves, no longer too cold and too transient to be loved. Old friends she had frozen out of her life might begin to draw in towards this new warmth, forcing her to acknowledge that she had never really been alone, even when she had thought herself at her most self-sufficient – they had been waiting there, arms open, ready to catch her if she fell. Responsibilities came with that. Demands. She could no longer just walk away when it all became too much.

When Eiri had read the manuscript again, he had been horrified by just how much of his own life – of his own heart and soul – he had poured into it. It was disturbing enough to find himself relating to the ill-treated heroine, instead of one of the more usual brooding, difficult but dangerously compelling anti-heroes his female readership routinely fell in love with. Shuichi too was terrifyingly easy to identify, fixing him in his intention never to let his lover read this story in any form. But more insidious were characters such as Mayu, who seemed a sinister fusion of Mika and Tohma. And yet Eiri could swear when he had created the characters he had had no such ideas in mind. Idiot interviewers often asked him if this character or that was based on any particular person, but they knew nothing – the characters were like children, formed of a fusion of data. He did not need to borrow them from the world outside.

And as he read, the characters themselves began to annoy him. Instead of seeming a tragic victim of passion and deceit, trading love for power, Maiko seemed like a spoilt, whining, pretentious little cow. Omi seemed indefensibly stupid, not to mention so cloyingly sweet he would give Eiri's readers diabetes. But if he became less of a pushover, if Maiko's mother became less of a hardarsed bitch, if her arranged fiancée became less of a stuffed shirt – if, in summary, there was any prospect of Maiko finding happiness – then the ending would simply not work. And it had to end that way, because…

Because…

It was detestable, but it was true. Eiri was impaled on his own sword. He had become his own cliché.

The ending would not work because then it would not be "vintage Yuki Eiri."

Of course he did not always end his novels unhappily.

Well. Not absolutely always.

All right, there had only been one novel, completed just after Shuichi had blundered into his life, where he had suddenly had a change of heart and let his hero and heroine escape to a happy new life away from the family feud which threatened to tear them apart. But the story had easily allowed for the change, and besides, it had been easily justified – to kill them both off would make it too much of a Romeo and Juliet ending. This time, it would not be so simple.

And yet, as Eiri sat in that hotel room in Kyushu and heard Shuichi singing joyfully to himself as he changed into his new costume, the whole thing suddenly smacked of hypocrisy. Reluctant as he was to admit it, it really did seem that he and Shuichi were happy, and would continue to be so for at least the near future. And even if they weren't – if for whatever reason, inconceivable for now, they were to part, Eiri simply could not see his life snapping back to what it had been before Shuichi had appeared. The pattern was broken. Whatever he would be without Shuichi, he would not be the man Shuichi had met that night in the park.

"Yuuuuuu-kiiiiiiiiiii!" Shuichi called melodiously from the dressing-room, "I'm redddd-yyyyyyyyyyy…"

Eiri could not help a small shiver of anticipation as he pulled himself to his feet. The fact that he was actually getting excited over seeing his boyfriend – _boyfriend??!! _– in some stupid outlandish stage costume only served to hammer home the reality that he was experiencing the very happiness he had insisted Maiko could not have. "Come on then, idiot, I haven't got all day," he said testily, slamming shut his laptop before it could mock him any further.

Shuichi sprang into the room, giving Eiri a graceful twirl. "How do you like me, Eiri-chan?" he purred.

Eiri felt his eyes bulge in his sockets. "Absolutely, positively, undeniably _no goddamned way _are you appearing in public in that," he exploded when his voice came back to him.

"But _Yuki….!"_ Shuichi wailed in dismay.

"But Yuki nothing! You look like you're going to a bondage party! Come on, we're going to see that psycho manager of yours!" Yuki snatched up one of the complimentary bathrobes from the bed and threw it at Shuichi. "_But put that on first!"_

**TBC: **Jilted John to the rescue?


	2. The Grievance of Jilted John

**THE BALLAD OF JILTED JOHN by Moon71**

**Chapter 2: The Grievance of Jilted John: **How can a flame cure writer's block? Eiri is about to get an intensive case of shock treatment…

**Quick Apology: **I am really sorry to have taken an eternity to post this – Christmas crept up on me suddenly and since then I've been running around like a BAF trying to catch up. But here I am! And I want to say a very, very warm and sincere thank you to all of you who have reviewed. I really wasn't sure what you would make of this!!

**Spoiler Alert: **To anyone happily reading Thomas Hardy's _Tess of the D'Urbervilles _(or unhappily reading it as part of the school curriculum. I wish you luck!) John, as well as not having much time for Yuki Eiri, has no respect for the unwary and will reveal the entire plot to you if you don't look out.

**Note: **As I'm sure I've said before, I have no idea what Eiri's novels would be like and have very limited knowledge of Japanese literature. I sensed a fatalism in the way his books were described, with heavy drama, tear-jerking tragedy and horrible things happening to nice people, and the Japanese production I know best that has such themes was _The Water Margin _(yes I know it's a Chinese story but the version I grew up with and still adore was made in Japan!) So in the end I decided to mix something together out of that series, the depressing fatalism of Thomas Hardy and my own weird imaginings. If the result is crap, I will happily take the blame.

* * *

It was no use. Fighting with K and that pervert of a costume designer had been a welcome distraction, but that was it was – a distraction. Even as he stood over Shuichi while the designer grudgingly closed some of the gaps in his outfit, he knew he was finding reasons to waste time and not go back to work.

Of course he could just put the novel aside and start on something new – he was never short of ideas, and the slow progress across Japan had only served to stimulate his imagination. And he was itching to sink his teeth into something new.

He _had _to write. Something, anything, he did not yet know what, but he had to _write. _But Maiko and her world just would not leave him in peace. It was more than just unfinished business – it was the knowledge that somehow this was the best writing he had ever done.

Able for the first time to look back on his previous writing with a penetrating honesty, he was able to acknowledge what he had known somewhere in the back of his mind since his first completed novel. It was all… a lie. Every word of every one of his novels. He didn't believe in any of it. There was no sincerity in anything he wrote. He had treated his characters like a miserly employer treated his staff, short-changing them whenever he could. Certainly he had fed them all the bitterness, the cruelty, the weakness and the hopeless futility with which he had perceived world around him, but he had refused to let them draw upon his own inner voices, to give them any real part of himself. Beneath the melodrama, the misfortune, the animal passions and violent jealousies dominating their lives, they were superficial. Hollow. And strangely predictable.

Until Maiko's story. Just like her namesake, Maiko had been born after Shuichi. Maiko was… honest. Heartfelt. Sincere.

And Maiko just might be Yuki Eiri's masterpiece.

Forcing himself not to go in search of coffee or beer or chocolate or shortcake or any one of the many comforts Room Service would be only too happy to supply – denying himself even the routine pleasure of a cigarette - Eiri sat down front of the computer.

Inspiration. That was what he needed.

Resolutely he closed the folder containing the chapters of his novel and clicked on the internet icon, scrolling down his favourites until he found the site he was looking for. was just one of many sites which allowed readers to review and rate the latest in Japanese romance, be it novels, manga, anime, television or films. It seemed as though it had originally been created with the Japanese-American community in mind, with text in both Japanese and English, but with more and more Japanese literature being translated into English and other languages it had begun to display reviews from all over the world.

Eiri found it rather a useful site, far more so than any of the Yuki Eiri fan sites, even his own official one routinely policed by Mizuki which he generally avoided like the plague. On _love2reviewjapan _there was at least a chance not all the reviews would be from gushing groupies ready to sing his praises even if he published a recipe for jellyfish sushi. There had been times when reading what the readers had to say could actually be very stimulating. Sometimes they even provided the catalyst for new characters or plots.

Most of the new reviews were for _Cool. _Glancing down the ratings, he was mildly satisfied to see it was generally well received. But he was not quite in the mood to be told he was wonderful. Instead, he found himself thinking of what Shuichi had said about Sakuma. About how while everyone else was trying to encourage him, Sakuma had not bothered to hide his dissatisfaction with Shuichi's singing. That was not strange in itself – the idea that Shuichi might be a bit off key because he was nursing a broken heart, having been ditched by his lover without a word of explanation (Eiri pushed his own role in that to the back of his mind) would hardly cut much ice with a man who seemed to have evolved and remained living on a different planet from everyone else. But the point was that Shuichi seemed to think it had done him good.

Most of the inflammatory reviews were disappointingly predictable: the story made no sense or was too violent or the ending too tragic or the reader simply found the subject matter or the characters boring. But then he hit one that actually caught his attention. For a start, it appeared to be from a man.

_**BOOK TITLE: HONOUR by Yuki Eiri**_

_**RATING: 0/5**_

_**REVIEWER: JILTED JOHN**_

_All right. I realise that once this review is posted I'm going to start receiving death threats from rabid fangirls all over Japan and not even posting this review in English will save me. But all I can say is, bring it on, ladies! My inbox is sadly empty these days, so even hate mail is treated as a plus!_

_Before we get started let me explain a few things so you can't say I didn't tell you at the beginning. First, I'm not Japanese. Second, I can't read Japanese. Third, I can't speak Japanese beyond knowing how to avoid ordering some sort of toxic puffer fish at a sushi bar in Tokyo. Fourth, I'm a bloke. You might think that any one of these factors immediately disqualifies me from posting a serious review, but hear me out. _

_Two years ago, at University, I met a foreign exchange student called – well, let's call her Hiroko, after the heroine in Yuki Eiri's truly wrist-slashingly depressing novel. It was love at first sight. Hiroko was beautiful, with the curves of a goddess and a smile that could light up a room. And her intelligence was beyond question, even if she did agree to become my girlfriend. I would have done anything to please her, and that included absorbing Japanese culture, something I freely admit I knew nothing about besides buying a Sony video player or watching Yu-Gi-Oh on the CBBC channel when I was supposed to be revising for my A-levels. _

_One day I found Hiroko reading a book in Japanese which turned out to be "Honour" by Yuki Eiri (yes, I do know which way round Japanese names go, I'm not a complete ignoramus.) Before you dismiss me as an illiterate boor, I should add here that I love to read, and will give almost any book a go; a love of books was one of the things that brought me and Hiroko together. So when I showed an interest she began reading it aloud to me, translating it into English as she did so. I'm not into romance novels but I thought it would be a good way of learning Japanese. _

_How I wish I'd opted for linguaphone instead! "Honour" has to be the most unrelentingly dismal, misanthropic and utterly dispiriting novel I have ever had the misfortune to read. If I had been of a more sensitive disposition I would have been on suicide watch by the end of it. Even as Hiroko finished reading me the last chapter I was looking for a rope to hang myself with. Don't get me wrong – the background story was actually quite interesting, all about the family in the service of a Japanese Warlord about 700 years ago. _

_But the central so-called love story was a total downer. To summarise, a girl marries a dissolute, womanising drunk because he happens to be a favourite of the Warlord her father serves. The dissolute, womanising drunk fails to mend his ways, instead adding wife-beating and psychological abuse to his repertoire. Enter the hero, a young soldier with a troubled past, dark, sullen and brooding but strangely alluring (like all of Yuki's hero__es, so Hiroko said) who in spite of himself falls in love with the heroine. Cue passionate, illicit affair, set against the political machinations of the warlord and his court. Now no part of this novel is a bundle of laughs. None of the characters, barring the main lovers, seem to have much compassion for one another. Friends betray friends, sons betray fathers, and on it goes. Still, I thought, at least the lovers deserve a happy ending. And for a while it did seem as though they would get one. _

_Little did I know Yuki Eiri doesn't _do_ happy endings. Instead, just before they make good their plans to elope, the hero ritually tops himself to satisfy some inexplicably esoteric point of honour and the heroine goes back to have seven bells beaten out of her by her dissolute, womanising, violent drunk of a husband. The End. _

_Now I wouldn't call myself a sentimental man. My race would not call themselves a sentimental race. There are plenty of times I have sat through rom-coms or all out tearjerkers with a girlfriend silently wishing an unexpected disaster to befall the lovers, denying them happiness forever. But this book just depressed the crap out of me! I was left with the impression that the author was deliberately tormenting his characters like a cat with a mouse. It was like listening to someone both drunk and clinically depressed inflicting their life story on you while all you've had to fortify yourself is orange juice. I swear to God Yuki draws inspiration from Thomas Hardy – though Tess of the D'Urbervilles murdering her former lover and getting hanged for her pains has nothing on this! _

_I saw the picture of Yuki Eiri on the back of Hiroko's book. He looks more like a model than a writer, and a real bimbo too with that blonde hair of his which Hiroko naïvely insisted was real (come on, a blonde Japanese? I ask you!) According to the blurb, he's only about 22 years old and is known for his penchant for the ladies. I just don't buy it. My own personal theory is that Yuki Eiri is really a 20 stone middle-aged virgin spinster with no friends and no life whose only release from social and sexual frustration is to inflict this dreary, disheartening crap on the world at large. _

_Do you detect a note of bitterness in me? You bet your life you do. Fool that I was, I told Hiroko what I thought of her favourite author. When, two months later, she dumped me for a maths student whose last book read for pleasure was probably Thomas the Tank Engine, she cited this as one of the reasons. Apparently my rejection of Yuki was taken as a sign that I couldn't appreciate her, or Japanese culture, totally lacked any emotional depth and all in all was about as romantic as a tonsillectomy. _

_Well, I stand by what I said. Yuki Eiri is reading matter suitable only for lemmings and __the kind of strange people who like to put a plastic bag over their head during sex. And so I will conclude by saying to you, Mr – or should that be Miss? - Yuki, what I finally had to say to Hiroko… get over yourself and get a bloody life! _

**TBC: **So there's the review, but what effect will it have on Eiri?


	3. The Revelation of Eiri

**THE BALLAD OF JILTED JOHN by Moon71**

**Chapter ****3: The Revelation of Eiri **So Eiri has read the review. But what will he make of it?

**Note: **Well here we are at the end! I want to thank everyone who has posted supportive and friendly reviews – I wasn't sure what you would all make of this, especially the review itself, but no complaints so far!

If it isn't already obvious, most info on Mizuki comes from Vols 1 and 3 of the manga, as she only made a fleeting appearance in the anime.

Last of all, I want to wish EVERYONE a very, very happy Christmas and a wonderful New Year!

* * *

Eiri stared at the review for a long moment before scrolling back to the beginning and reading it all over again. Then he did something he had not done with any real conviction since he had returned from the USA at the age of sixteen. He began to laugh out loud.

Only the clicking of a passkey in the hotel room door brought his merriment to a sudden halt. "Yuki…?" came a soft, tentative voice. "Yuki, are you all right? I thought I heard…" Shuichi glanced uncertainly about the room. "I thought I heard someone laughing!"

"I… was watching a video on the YouTube," Eiri mumbled, rubbing his cramping belly muscles. Laughing like that after so long was a painful experience.

"Oh… okay…" Shuichi continued to eye him doubtfully, but then he brightened, strolling over to plant a kiss on Eiri's lips. "It's time for me to go over to the venue; do you want to come with me?"

"No, I'll walk over in a little while," Eiri answered, absently reaching down a hand to stroke Shuichi's bottom. "Break a leg."

"Huh - ?"

"Good luck, moron."

"Oh right!" Shuichi giggled. That bright light was shining in his violet eyes, that rosy flush was on his smooth cheeks. He was already getting fired up for his performance. It was an odd thing to watch – it increased Eiri's respect for his lover every time he saw it, but it also gave him a strange little pang; at times like this, Shuichi could seem surprisingly remote as he began making a transition into a world which Tohma or Sakuma could enter freely but Eiri could only view from a distance. "Don't be late, now…"

With another kiss, he was gone.

Reluctantly, Eiri pulled himself to his feet and headed in the direction of the bathroom. Probably not enough time for a shower – he couldn't be bothered to watch the supporting band open for Bad Luck yet again, and he hated hanging around the dressing rooms like a groupie getting under people's feet, but there was a nice park nearby and he needed the exercise.

But as he switched on the bathroom light and reached for his toothbrush, he found a wry smile tugging at his lips.

_Get over yourself and get a bloody life._

Fine advice for Miss Yuki Eiri the 300lb virgin…

Fine advice, indeed, for Yuki Eiri-san, the 22 year old womanising bimbo model with suspect blonde hair…

Fine advice for…

For…

* * *

Once again it was the click of the door lock activating that awoke him, followed by Shuichi's voice, this time heaving a huge sigh of relief as he rushed over and threw himself into Eiri's arms, showering him with kisses. "Oh Yuki, thank goodness – when I – I was so worried I…"

Eiri sniffed. Not only was Shuichi feverishly hot, and wearing what looked like K's raincoat, but he reeked of perspiration, damp leather and greasepaint. "What the hell…"

Shuichi buried his face in Eiri's neck, staining his shirt collar with stage make-up. "When I didn't see you in the audience I began to worry, I thought maybe you'd been mugged on your way over, I wanted to get off stage and go and look for you but K said he'd shoot me if I…"

"Stage…?" Eiri rubbed his eyes blearily, looking at the digital display on his laptop. _"Shit!" _Had he really been working for five solid hours? Once the words had finally, _finally_ begun to flow again, once he knew exactly how to solve the problems plaguing the story, he had completely lost track of time. "Shuichi, I…"

But Shuichi seemed remarkably unruffled by his lover's failure to show up. He was staring at the computer screen too. "Yuki! Have you started writing again? But that's great!" A slow smile spread across his face. "Was it my advice that did it?"

Eiri opened his mouth, and then closed it. Even if he could find a way to explain it, there was certainly no way to do it without making himself sound like a complete idiot. He pushed Shuichi off his lap and pulled himself up. "You stink," he declared, wrinkling his nose, "did your mother never teach you to wash?"

"Yuki!" Shuichi wailed, "That's not fair, I was so worried about you I rushed all the way over here! I didn't even get time to change!"

Eiri grabbed his hand and began hauling him in the direction of the shower.

* * *

Mizuki was frowning heavily. Eiri could almost _feel _her mind working, considering how to play him now that he was digging his heels in. Even he had to admit this was not his usual style – he had always tended to treat his finished drafts with an air of vague contempt, to affect an air of dispassionate boredom, as if they meant nothing. That was never really true; he was more than just a hack romance novelist, pouring out drivel to order – he knew it, Mizuki knew it and so did his readers. But he had never felt quite as passionate about any of his novels before.

There was no way to explain it to Mizuki, even though he thought he now understood. From the very beginning the story and its characters had tapped into his subconscious; a by-product, perhaps not unexpected in the brain of a writer, of the memories Shindou Shuichi had begun to awaken in him from the moment he had entered his life. The first draft had perhaps acted as some sort of catharsis, some release of the building pressure.

But as he had begun the rewrites he had worked so hard to drive out the autobiographical undertones that the characters had developed whole new dimensions, had become more real to him then any characters he had ever created before. Maiko now suggested a soul trapped in darkness, longing for the light but afraid to step out of the shadows. Her own misery had become the focus, the very meaning of her life. If Omi had grown from Shuichi, then at least he could be given Shuichi's newer, more mature aspects – he became more assertive, more attractive, able to see through Maiko's coldness but unwilling to tolerate her spite. But the character Eiri was most pleased with was Mayu, who had grown from a hideous melding of his sister and brother-in-law to a totally original figure, harder, less sentimental, less tolerant. Instead of hovering ready to pick up the pieces when Maiko crashed, she became a figure Maiko was attracted to, like a moth to a flame, but one who had clear limits, only ready to put her fragile friend back together a limited amount of times.

For him, the scene that Mizuki hated was the crucial one. Maiko had gone to see Mayu on the eve of her wedding. They had gone for a drink, during which Maiko poured her heart out, listing all the reasons she could not possibly marry Omi. But half way through the conversation, Mayu had exploded. Maiko, she said, needed to grow up. She needed to get over the past. She had been deceived by a worthless fortune hunter who had known exactly what she was – a naïve, lonely, fanciful girl. So what? Since then she had made a life for herself beyond anything she would probably have achieved had she not been forced to stand alone. She had shaken herself loose of her dictatorial mother and her suffocating family. She had turned a terrible negative into a positive. Now she had a near perfect young man ready to marry her not for her money or her name but for herself. What was she complaining about? Why was she clinging like a fool to something that had never been real in the first place? If Maiko turned Omi down now, it would prove that she was beyond help and Mayu would wash her hands of her. Maiko, she stated bluntly, needed to get over herself and get a life.

Mizuki could change anything she liked, but not that sentence. It meant too much to him. Perhaps, if Mika and Tohma had said that to him years ago, instead of constantly coddling him and moving sharp objects out of his way, he might have shaken off the shadow of New York a lot sooner. Or perhaps he was still blaming them, as he always had done, so he did not have to carry all the blame himself. That was one for the psychiatrist. In Maiko's universe, it worked.

Then again, if things had remained the same, would life have imitated art? Would the pair of them finally have written him off as a bad lot and cut him out of their lives? Now _there _was a sobering thought.

"I'm not changing the ending and that's final," Eiri declared, crushing out his cigarette with a finality he thought Mizuki should recognise by now. "If you're not happy you can wait for my next novel… but seeing as I haven't started on it yet, that could be several months away…"

Mizuki eyed him shrewdly for a moment, before giving him her sweetest smile. "Oh, I'm sure there's no need for that, Yuki-san," she said cheerfully, "It's a truly excellent novel – and it boasts some of the finest writing I think you've ever done. The modern setting is vital and exciting and it makes a refreshing change. And the characters are… different. They're…" she smiled politely. "A little more human? Now, how about this instead? We keep the scene but soften it a little. A heart to heart between two friends. A gradual realisation on Maiko's part that she has…" She gradually trailed off, her eyes fixing upon something over Eiri's shoulder. "… Yuki-san, there's a young man waving to us, do you… oh! Is that_ …" _Suddenly Mizuki's expression cleared and she waved her hand cheerfully.

Reluctantly Eiri turned and caught sight of a young man in an orange fleece and a baseball cap jogging over to their table. Eiri suppressed a groan. This was all he needed.

As Shuichi's face lit up at the sight of him, his violet eyes sparkling dangerously, Eiri thought for one horrible moment that his lover might actually lean forward and kiss him, or at least throw his arms about him, right in front of Mizuki and half of Tokyo. But Shuichi just smiled happily at him, then bowed gracefully to Mizuki. Strangely disappointed, Eiri sank morosely back into his chair.

"It's nice to see you again, Kanna-san," Shuichi said with an unmistakable little blush colouring his cheeks.

_Kanna-_san? Eiri blinked. Since when had those two got on such intimate terms? He frowned as Shuichi accepted Mizuki's invitation to join them, the two of them giggling like idiots as they studied the café menu. He had noticed that Shuichi had a boyish little crush on Eiri's editor ever since she had fished him drunk out of a fountain after a row with Eiri and then called Eiri to let him know Shuichi had fallen ill. But it had probably been exacerbated by a moment of post-coital imbecility when Eiri had admitted that Mizuki had been one of the first of his acquaintances to not only acknowledge them as a couple but actually speak supportively of the relationship.

Finally Mizuki ordered Shuichi coffee with some ghastly flavoured syrup in it, along with plain black coffee for Eiri and tea for herself, while Shuichi began chattering about plans for Bad Luck's second album.

"Shuichi-san!" Mizuki gasped, as the vocalist removed his cap, revealing short ebony locks. "I _thought_ something was different about you! Have you decided on a new image?"

"Oh no," Shuichi laughed, "I just did it for Yuki! He said just once he'd like to see me completely natural for once – "

"I only said it would make him less conspicuous during his month's break," Eiri snapped quickly, glaring at Shuichi across the table.

"Yuki!" Shuichi cried, "that's not what you said that night in Kyushu when we – _owww!"_ He let out a yelp as Eiri stamped on his foot under the table, but another damning look from his lover finally brought the message home. "Well, anyway, I wanted to go orange next – orange is my favourite colour, and Hiro said that orange and blue are complimentary, which means they sort of set each other off, and I thought that way orange would set off my eyes, but then again my eyes are kind of purple too, so maybe I should go blonde? Purple and yellow are complimentary too, you see! But then people would think I was trying to look like my boyfriend!" Shuichi shrieked with laughter. "But anyway my manager K said that the pink hair's become a sort of trademark…"

As their order arrived, Shuichi talked, Mizuki listened with apparently genuine pleasure and Eiri sipped his strong black coffee and brooded. Only when the conversation changed to Eiri's manuscript did he start paying serious attention. "…I really think this could be the most successful of Yuki-san's novels," he heard Mizuki saying.

"Yeah, I think so too!" Shuichi said with unwarranted self-assurance, "he's been reading bits of it to me since we got back from our tour – well, actually he started on the tour bus – did you know he came with us? Isn't that so cool of him? And did you know he named the main character after _my _sister? Man, you could have heard the shrieks all the way to the moon when I told her! And he even asked my advice…"

Eiri choked on his coffee.

"Well, I always thought you were a good influence on Yuki-san," Mizuki answered, beaming at the pair of them with infuriating maternal warmth as Shuichi slapped Eiri hard on the back. "I do hope you'll come with him to the book-launch, Shuichi-san…"

Eiri could barely suppress a groan as his head filled with visions of the future. He could almost see the society columns laid out before him in full colour. _Yuki Eiri was accompanied to the book launch by vibrant, pink-haired vocalist Shindou Shuichi of the popular band "Bad Luck"… _or, far worse, _At this year's MTV awards, Asian pop sensation Shuichi Shindou, lead singer of Bad Luck, arrived at the award ceremony with his partner, successful Japanese romance author and super-cool heartthrob Eiri Yuki…_

Feeling a little dizzy, Eiri instinctively reached for his cigarettes. Shuichi's eyes caught the movement at once and flickered unhappily before quickly shifting away. Cursing under his breath, Eiri stuffed the chosen cigarette back into the packet and dumped it back on the table.

This "happily ever after" thing was going to be a real bugger to get used to.

**THE END!**

9/07


End file.
